Does how others perceive us dictate how we define ourselves?
On self-perception
Hey y’all,
I’m keeping today’s intro brief since I’m currently at a bachelorette weekend in San Diego for my line sister who is getting married next month! The girls have coined this weekend as #GirlsGoneMild, and we’ve been somewhat living up to that hashtag while teetering on the lines of going wild. This morning we lazily woke up and made breakfast at home before heading to the spa for scrubs and massages, meanwhile I just stumbled in the house from our evening activity of throwing back blowjob shots, screaming at the top of our lungs, and dancing with drag queens at the Lips Sunday drag show. I'm used to bachelorette’s where every night is a battle between late nights, alcohol, and 20 and 30 somethings trying to keep up.
This pace has been refreshing. Duality is the spice of life!
This Week’s Story
Precious Nwosu, a writer from Nigeria, authors this week’s story on how her vision of self morphed over the years through the eyes of others. I always say that external validation can heal (or hurt) just as much as any other type of validation, and her story just proves how having the right tribe can change everything. Hope you enjoy!
Take care,
Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Media
P.S. - I’m posting about Black girl travel on YouTube! Check out my latest video, and feel free to subscribe!
The Power of Self-Perception: From Insecurities to Self-Love
by Precious Nwosu
The first time someone complimented my smile was in SS3, my final year in secondary school. It came from an NYSC-born-again sister who was keen on converting me, or in her words, “bringing me back” to God. This encounter unfolded on public transport on my way back to my boarding school after a mock JAMB (Joint Admission Matriculation) exam. Whether the compliment was genuine or a tactic to draw me closer, it bolstered my confidence, and like a fish to bait, I yielded to her persuasion.
Growing up, my teeth became discolored due to taking herbal remedies for illnesses. Despite trying countless toothpaste brands, the stains remained, becoming a defining feature of my childhood. My parents, concerned about my self-esteem, took me to several dentists, who divulged that I was too young for any operation. I had to endure teasing and ridicule from other children, which took a toll on my self-esteem, causing me to stop smiling altogether. So, this one time when I smiled and got a compliment from someone outside my family did something to me.
It wasn't just my teeth that faced scrutiny. Throughout secondary school, my mere existence seemed to be a constant target, subject to relentless bullying, particularly from the boys. My mates were already blossoming into adolescence blooming with curvy bodies and I was yet to “ripen”. My “tangerines” seem to be a weapon fashioned against me and my acceptance into the teenage world. Their taunts about my developing body, or lack thereof, left scars that lingered.
The torment didn't end there. My skin color became another source of ridicule. Even in the sea of black faces, I was singled out and told that my complexion was somehow inferior. I remember arguing with a mate in JSS3, and she went on to denigrate my complexion. In her words, ‘’All the Igbo people I have ever come across are fair, it is only your own that is different.” It was baffling, especially as the girl in question was no fairer than I was.
Transferring to a new school for senior year didn't offer much respite. Within days, people reminded me of my supposed shortcomings, emphasizing my perceived ugliness because of my skin tone. It's ironic how colorism permeates even within a predominantly Black society.
These experiences left me feeling deeply insecure about my body. Despite excelling academically, I couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy. Even with my parents' unwavering love and support, I believed something was inherently wrong with me. I hated that I didn't take on my mum’s fair-skinned complexion and took that of my dad instead.
Entering university, I found some solace when a guy, let's call him Mr. F, expressed appreciation for my complexion. Finally, I thought, someone who sees me for me. Yet, his constant jabs at fair-skinned women and his obsession with my weight shatter that illusion. His condescending remarks about my body only reinforced the insecurities I had battled for years. “Don't you eat?” “Why can't you have a bum like others?” “Are there no drugs that could make you fat?” and other condescending words.
However, despite his hurtful words I still made friends in university who were kind and interested in all I had to say. I'm talking about people who knew me and still selected me—people who cared about the small elements of my life. These friends tried to help me see myself in a different light and helped me see the beauty that was within me. I was content, but I still had doubts about them because when you have dined and played with darkness for a very long time, light becomes a stranger. I questioned their love. What did they see in me that others didn't, what was I doing now that caused them to fling affection at me—that caused them to see so much light in me? I was in denial and believed that I couldn't be loved, but they continued to show me that they cared and loved me.
In my third year of school, my literature classes delved into the narratives of powerful Black women who embraced their inherent strength and influence in society. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah protagonist, Ifemelu, is one woman that stood out, as well as Efuru by Flora Nwapa. Witnessing their confidence was a revelation for me. If these women could embrace their insecurities, love their flaws, and proudly showcase their strengths, why couldn't I?
Although not a recommended book by the school, Queenie, a novel written by Candice Catty Williams was another I read that changed my perception. It’s a story about a Jamaican British woman living in London and passing through the journey of womanhood. She suffered from merging her two lives together. After one of my classes, I retreated to my room and had a moment of profound introspection. I found myself shedding tears as I apologized to my body for every moment I had felt disgusted by it, regretted my skin colour, or believed I wasn't enough. It was a cathartic experience.
That moment marked a turning point in my journey. I began to invest in clothes that made me feel confident, proudly accentuating my strengths, like my flat stomach. I prioritized self-care and started to drown out the negative voices around me, choosing to believe in my affirmations. I found inspiration in artists like Ayra Starr, whose unapologetic confidence was contagious.
Through this process, I learned the power of self-perception. How we carry ourselves often dictates how others perceive and treat us.
There's an Igbo adage that resonates with me: "Whoever agrees, his God agrees with him too." It feels like the universe aligned with my journey towards self-love, rewarding me with a partner who further bolstered my confidence in my body. I met him His gentle gestures, like forehead kisses and reassuring words, served as constant reminders of my worth. His actions tells me, “I see you, I appreciate you, and I love every part of you.”
His affectionate touches and words of affirmation during intimate moments became a source of strength for me, solidifying my self-esteem. His validation helped me to counteract any lingering doubts or insecurities I may have about myself, reinforcing a positive self-image and boosting my overall confidence.
Now, I’m at a point in life where I’m completely in love with my person and aware of how much aura I exude as a human being. I’ve become acutely aware of the positive impact I have on those around me—the way my smiles and laughter seem to beckon people in, leaving a lasting impression.
Though echoes of the anxiety, fear, and low self-esteem from my past occasionally resurface, I greet them with open arms, acknowledging their presence but swiftly reminding myself of how far I’ve come.
Precious Nwosu is a culture, content, and creative writer from Abia State residing in Lagos, Nigeria. Precious has written for reputable magazines like AMAKA Studio, Resonate, Voice Box, Culture Custodian, Adventures From, Document Women, and Gay. Uk, etc. and is also a book reviewer. When she is not reading, writing or studying, she is vibing to Ayra Starr’s songs. You can reach her on Twitter @adannaya.